


A Change of Heart

by Dalandel, raiyana



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Drama & Romance, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:08:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23277592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dalandel/pseuds/Dalandel, https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiyana/pseuds/raiyana
Summary: Seducing Glorfindel had been easy - too easy, really, Ecthelion thought - butkeeping himinterested... well, that was a lot more complicated.And some day he'd fail, he knew.He just hadn't expected that day to come sosoon.
Relationships: Ecthelion of the Fountain/Glorfindel
Comments: 18
Kudos: 69





	A Change of Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for Screw Yule.

"Shall I sing you a song?" Ecthelion mused, letting his fingers flutter across the strings of his harp – not his favourite instrument, but nearest to hand, and it would allow him to _sing_ … Looking at Glorfindel, little more than a riot of curls above the blanket, he smiled, playing an off-key note entirely on purpose. 

No reaction.

He played a chord that almost hurt, really quite hoping that Glorfindel would wake up properly – bringing back breakfast fruits to bed was so much more fun when the target of those seductive measures actually _noticed_. Shrugging lightly – and if the loosely belted robe he’d thrown on to go to the kitchen split down his chest at the motion that was purely accidental, of course – and twanged the strings again.

Glorfindel turned his head, blowing a wayward curl out of his eyes. Ecthelion appeared fresh and beautiful as ever, despite their quite recent nocturnal activities and the almost comically looping tangle sticking from the back of his head. Bed hair, at any rate, suited him well – much better than it did Glorfindel, who transformed into an unkempt beast come morning, no matter if he’d had a rigorous night or not.

Besides, he was glad to know that the damage was his to undo – Glorfindel enjoyed few things more than combing Ecthelion’s hair back into the shine it was due; even before he’d been allowed more, running a comb – and his fingers – through that silky sleekness after a round of sparring had caused him no little pleasure.

…And those specific thoughts almost made him forget he ought to say something before Ecthelion made good on his threat.

“ _Please_ , no,” he groaned softly. “ _Anything_ but that, my lord.” A mischievous glint in Glorfindel’s eyes repeated in the shining edge of his canine, standing a little out of its row as a result of a riding accident in his youth. “I _beg_ of you.”

“Well...” Ecthelion mused, pausing in his rendition of _A Fountain’s Song_ to study his captive audience, noting the gleam in Glorfindel’s eyes and the small hickey his lips had left on that very tempting neck the night before, a memory that still made him shiver with the twinge of well-used muscles. “I _do_ like the sound of you begging… _my lord_.” The last words he almost purred, leaning down to press his lips against Glorfindel’s for a spell. 

He tasted too good to pull away quickly, of course, but Glorfindel’s kisses always held a hint of the sunshine trapped in his hair and Ecthelion rather loved teasing the sweetness of it onto his tongue.

He was a little surprised by the hand that suddenly escaped the nest of blankets to fist in his hair, however.

Ecthelion was a terrible tease, but Glorfindel didn’t mind – when their lips met like this, when Glorfindel’s whole being got to bathe in the warmth that was Ecthelion, nothing existed beyond that.

His splendid, beautiful Ecthelion. Glorfindel would never get enough.

His hand cupped the back of the dark head, fingers tangling in the mess their endeavours had left behind – Glorfindel spared a murmured apology, pressed against the edge of that soft mouth before licking a stripe over the delicious hot seam, made to open for his tongue. An involuntary gasp escaped Glorfindel’s lips at the barest hint of taste, a familiar yet curious sensation travelling downward the length of his spine. So good, yet instantly not enough.

“You are lucky,” Glorfindel said, drawing back an almost agonising inch. “You are the only one who gets to hear me beg.”

“But you do it so prettily, dearest lover,” Ecthelion whispered back, breathing the words into Glorfindel’s mouth on another kiss, that playful tongue coming out to steal the last syllable from his mouth. 

Smiling, Ecthelion let himself be invaded, dropping the half-forgotten harp on the rug beneath his feet and climbed further onto the bed, spreading himself out on top of Glorfindel – who definitely wasn’t oblivious to his presence, Ecthelion noted, grinning to himself as he sucked Glorfindel’s tongue into his mouth. Moaning softly, he closed his eyes, surrendering to the direction of Glorfindel’s hand wrapped in his hair, slowly turning breathless from his kisses. His own fingers, once he managed a precarious sort of one-handed balancing act on Glorfindel’s chest, wanted to mimic the move, but he forgot his purpose once his fingertips found Glorfindel’s sharp jaw, dazedly rubbing over the pulse beating below his left ear as he floated into the kiss. 

Glorfindel’s grin died with a groan at the husky, flame-hot words – and resurrected itself when his wandering free hand found a firm silk-clad buttock, fingers rubbing into the shapely muscle and tracing the contours of it with all the reverence he could muster, briefly dipping into the veiled cleft he had worshipped with his tongue that night. The cool hair wrapped within Glorfindel’s hand was his anchor as his desire rose, causing him to buck his hips up against Ecthelion’s definite interest.

“How long have you been up?” he asked, laughing at his choice of words and drowning his chuckle against the tantalising dip of Ecthelion’s neck, pressing another brief kiss there. Damn if he didn’t love holding Ecthelion like this. There was no better way to start a day.

“Mmm” Ecthelion mumbled, eyes closed as he tried to at least _pretend_ that he wasn’t as wanton as Glorfindel implied. “..Not _too_ long,” he finally said, though it sounded more like a question, “I brought you foo- _oh… do that again.”_ Rolling his hips, he cursed the soft blanket trapped between them, when Glorfindel did just that. “ _Glorfindel!_ ” he whined, feeling Glorfindel’s fingers align with their imprints from the night before with a luscious twinge and allowed the pressure to set his rhythm, distracted by clever lips running down his neck until he forgot what he’d meant to say entirely. 

“Oh how I love you,” Glorfindel uttered, letting the simple truth of the words pull a sigh from his lips against that long white neck, faintly blotted with tender bites. He added another there just for good measure, just below where Ecthelion’s collar would be, moaning at the taste and scent of him – hint of perfume, a dash of sweat, something of Glorfindel clinging to him as if marking him, and that all just drove Glorfindel a little crazier for him. “Songs like these are what I prefer to hear from you… Please, beloved…”

Glorfindel would beg if he had to – gladly, even – but he was the type to play all his cards in bed, and so he dug his fingers a little deeper, meeting the resistance of muscle twitching beneath silk and smooth skin. The noises he got in response made his blood flare up, his cock filling further where it was trapped between their willing bodies. Clumsily, he pulled at the thin blanket, managing to drag it out of the way until the outside of his thigh met the inside of Ecthelion’s, skin brushing against skin where that silken robe folded open.

“When you say my name like that… my skin feels too tight, too warm, for my heart,” Glorfindel whispered, with a glimmer in his eye, studying the beautiful face for a moment before he could bear the distance no more. Still holding onto the thick dark hair, Glorfindel leaned up to nose at the patter of pulse, licking a stripe over protruding tendon until he reached a beautiful ear – and sucking the soft lobe into his mouth was as easy as it was tempting.

Ecthelion melted against the strong chest of his lover – and wasn’t that an incredibly delicious appellation to use so freely? – wrapping his arms around the strong shoulders for balance and keened softly when Glorfindel’s lips found a new spot to mark. 

“Vampire,” he gasped, tilting his head to offer better access. Trailing fingertips over Glorfindel’s well-shaped muscles would never bore him, he thought, drawing back just enough to trace one of the marks his nails had left behind. 

_Mine._

There remained something slightly illicit but incredibly thrilling in that thought, knowing that later, when Glorfindel went to the sparring grounds, the marks _he_ had left would be on display for all to see.

Of course, Glorfindel had left marks, too, but mostly ones that could be covered by a high stiff collar, and Ecthelion rather liked the idea of keeping them hidden, secret knowledge all his own – and Glorfindel’s, of course – as he joined his fellow warriors in speculation as to the identity of Glorfindel’s new lover.

“Do you think anyone will guess correctly?” he wondered, half-surprised to hear the words leave his mouth. “Who put these claw marks on you, I mean,” he added, blushing a little when Glorfindel pulled back to look at him. Not that it mattered if anyone _did_ , but _still_ … a part of him wanted to shout the news from the top of the Gate – but another wanted to see how long they could keep it up, wondered if he’d perfected his act of appearing indifferent to the way sunlight trapped itself in those wild curls, or whether everyone would read what had transpired between them plain as day on his face.

 _I love you_. _I didn’t mean to, but I do_.

Seeing that endearing shade of colour rise to Ecthelion’s cheeks, Glorfindel could but smile at him, briefly brushing his nose against Ecthelion’s.

“Would it bother you more – or less – if they did, or if they… didn’t?”

He was treading on thin ice, Glorfindel thought, unsure if it was the right question to ask – his light tone had failed him, he knew it, but after their first time Ecthelion had publicly behaved in a way that made Glorfindel think he preferred to keep the nature of their relationship secret. He had only half-understood why – they were both prestigious enough to be allowed their personal ventures without losing too much face.

He let go of the thick rope of Ecthelion’s hair and skimmed his fingers down the slope of his cheek instead, along his neck and over the indentations of his white collarbone, gaze now shy veering off to follow the movement. Ecthelion’s chest was a map of Glorfindel’s passion, and he longed to kiss each spot and toothmark.

_That’s the question, isn’t it?_

Ecthelion didn’t know what to say. How to explain what he couldn’t explain to himself? 

Wasn’t Glorfindel supposed to be easy? 

Everyone said so, after all – an easy smile and an easy lover – and that’s what Ecthelion had expected to be, at first, trying to drive his stupid _feelings_ out of his heart by making himself just another in the line of Glorfindel’s bedmates. 

Not that it had worked terribly well – or _at all_ , really – but that had been his intention. 

And instead he’d been gifted this Glorfindel, who called him love like he actually _meant_ it, and didn’t seem to spend his time looking for someone else, even when he didn’t know Ecthelion was watching. 

Settling back on Glorfindel’s hips, he couldn’t quite stop himself remembering just how pleasant that same act had been less than ten hours earlier. Staring at the blue eyes, reminded of the deepest crevasses of the Ice, he hesitated. 

_Can I just... tell him?_

_No… he wouldn’t understand_. _We’re not real, and I should stop fooling myself._

The burning truth of that knowledge was a bucket of icy water on his ardour. Sighing, Ecthelion pulled away, swinging his legs over the side of the low bed and getting to his feet. 

“It is late… we should be about our days,” he mumbled, hating himself for his cowardice even as he walked through the door, belting his robe securely around him as his feet found the slippers left by the door. 

Perhaps a long soak in hot water would help settle his mind. 

Even if the ghosts of Glorfindel’s kisses lingering in his skin made his body far more interested in returning to the bedchambers and finishing what he’d started. 

* * *

“Glorfindel is in a foul mood this day,” someone remarked, standing off to Ecthelion’s left when he arrived with a contingent of warriors for their scheduled training session. 

“Broke it off with his latest lover, I imagine,” Galdor replied, shrugging. “Or they with _him_ , rather.”

“Oh? I’d heard a rumour he’d taken up with some new fling; serious was it?” 

Galdor laughed. “With Glorfindel?” he chuckled. “Hardly. That boy’s always flitted from bed to bed – he’s for pleasure, that one, not romance.”

Ecthelion’s blood chilled. 

Looking at the ferocious display of muscle and swordsmanship, he had to agree with the original assessment of Glorfindel’s mood. 

_Anger should not be this delicious on him_. 

“Who has angered our Golden Flower?” he asked, pretending not to have heard their conversation. 

Galdor shrugged. “Don’t know, but I wouldn’t be happy to be his next partner today.” 

Agreement floated through the air; Glorfindel was always a fierce opponent, but there was a darkness in him today, and Ecthelion couldn’t help but wonder if Glorfindel was imagining _his_ face on his poor opponent. 

He didn’t want to know the answer.

Glorfindel had _left_ , after all, long gone by the time Ecthelion’s bath had relaxed him enough to attempt to sort out the tangled threads of his heart and mind. 

_That was it, then_ , he thought, sighing to himself. _Hardly a surprise_. 

He hadn’t expected Glorfindel’s interest to _last_ , precisely, though he felt a little stung to his pride at the thought that they were over so quickly.

“He needs another outlet for his frustrations, I’m sure,” Alwo smirked. “I might offer to be his partner… _later_.” No one mistook his meaning; a few chuckles were heard among the milling crowd, and Ecthelion’s blood froze in his veins at the sound of more than one bet on Alwo’s necessary stamina for the task flew through the air. 

_It isn’t fair,_ some part of him wailed. _I want more!_

Ecthelion squashed it ruthlessly. 

He could do little else, despite wanting to go claim Glorfindel’s lips for all to see. 

_I made this bed, I must lie in it_ , he sighed to himself. _Goodbye… beloved._

Turning his back on Glorfindel, he gestured to his own captain to begin the drill, ignoring the clamour of steel against steel ringing out behind him. 

* * *

Glorfindel had been called simple before, by someone who had thought he would be offended by the definition. But he liked simple things – good food, good wine, good conversation, good sparring, good sex. None of these had managed to fill a certain void inside him, however – it was a piece of a jigsaw in the shape of Ecthelion that had proven to be surprisingly complicated, and it seemed that Glorfindel had failed to set that one last piece in place.

One morning hadn’t been enough to go through all the emotions and thoughts raging in his head and chest, yet Glorfindel had been hopeful a rigorous training session would at least help by driving him into exhaustion. The hope had been in vain – he was soaked in sweat until the scratches in his chest itched and stung, and the muscles he had used so deliberately last night sang with fatigue, but that all just served to remind him how a good evening and even better night had soured into an inexplicably bad morning that had left him feeling dismissed and suddenly unwanted.

He was usually good with self-control – he had to be, as experienced and skilled as he was with his longsword, for it not to become too dangerous for his partner despite the dulled blade – but the shouts he let out spoke of frustration that Glorfindel became more and more unable to hide.

Eyes glowing, he welcomed another senior warrior with a mere nod before lunging forward, striking fast enough that his experienced partner barely had the time to parry, the muscles of his forearms twitching with effort.

Glorfindel continued at it, with the dust dancing at his feet, despite feeling familiar eyes on his back – he did not need to look to be sure of their owner, but he did anyway, and almost forgot to dodge away from the path of his opponent’s weapon. Grunting, Glorfindel forced his focus back into the task, wearing down the warrior.

He didn’t know what cruel twist of fate it was – or was it merely Ecthelion who was cruel, to arrive here to see just how deeply his dismissal had affected Glorfindel’s mood.

He cursed inward, swiping errant hair from his eyes.

“I have had enough,” he said then, turning towards the weapon racks at the edge of the ring and appointing his second to see the drill through. It was an inopportune turn of events, to feel like he was ejected from another of his safe places within just few hours, but there was nothing to be done for it – he was too conscientious to deliberately cause an injury just to vent his own frustration. 

Sighing, Glorfindel lifted his gaze to see Ecthelion with his soldiers – _he doesn’t look happy_ – his hair shone under the harsh light, weaving gently in the breeze, long legs set _just so_ and arms crossed over his chest, and the fëa-crushing beauty of him almost threatened to melt Glorfindel’s anger.

_Oh but I need my anger. Otherwise… no, I won’t beg._

* * *

Ecthelion knew they were being watched, the glaive in his hands an extension of his own self he knew well, the double blades requiring different moves to the sword, requiring _focus_.

That’s why he had picked the weapon today, after all, forcing himself to focus on the moves he was making instead of the gaze boring into his back. 

“It appears we are being assessed,” his second remarked softly.

Ecthelion nodded, well aware of the blue eyes burning into his spine.

“Then it would seem you should _all_ show the mettle of the House of the Fountain to Lord Glorfindel,” he called, pleased that his warriors were so well-trained even Glorfindel could have little to criticise. 

Somehow, that felt like a much-needed victory. 

He still did not dare to turn around, trying to lose himself in the exertion of blade and body, too easily reminded by twinges and well-earned aches that his body would have welcomed a vastly different sort of exertion with much greater anticipation and delight. 

_No more. He will show up with the marks of another in his back and I…_ Ecthelion didn’t finish the thought, too afraid that the answer would be his undoing. 

He wanted to go back to that morning, to waking up besides what could only be called a bird’s nest, return to the moment he slipped back into the room with the intention of feeding Glorfindel grapes until either of them found a better use for their mouths. 

But that was a dream.

And now it was over.

* * *

Glorfindel tried to tell himself he’d eventually get over it. It didn’t even last that long, unless you counted the years he had spent lusting after Ecthelion, then yearning in secret as the world and politics changed around them.

If you counted that, it had lasted too long for any amount of ale to heal or sparring to cure.

Muttering to himself, Glorfindel wiped off most of the sweat and redid his disintegrated braid, groaning at the pull in his muscles and the all but burning scratches in his chest. He looked in no way lordly when he left the sparring grounds, the black cloud still hanging over his head effectively keeping anyone from asking for his attention.

He returned to his house, only to find himself too restless to stay within its walls – a while he spent in the stables, tending to the glossy fur coats of his horses, but they could sense his agitation and turned and reared at him, twisting back their silken ears as if to tell him to back off until he was in a better mood.

Taking the hint, Glorfindel left.

He returned to the streets, clueless how to spend his twitchy energy – a thought of finding one of his friends for a tryst grazed his mind briefly, but the idea felt too painful to go through with. As he wandered, night fell, bringing with it homely snatches of sound from windows he passed, lovers and families winding down after the day’s toils.

Glorfindel _missed_ Ecthelion.

And no longer than a few blinks after, he saw Ecthelion’s retreating back as he waved off his friends, turning down the winding path that led to the colonnade near his house, taking a shortcut as the rest of his group continued towards one of the more popular taverns.

Glorfindel followed him, because he could do nothing else – Ecthelion’s name died in his throat before he could speak it, but the hand that curled around one rounded shoulder found its target, effectively spinning the elf around.

“We need to speak.”

“I fail to see that need, my lord,” Ecthelion replied, though he didn’t try to wrest himself free of Glorfindel’s grip. He had both pride and dignity enough to keep him from acting like a greenhorn, though it was surprising how much effort it took to keep his voice steady. “To me, you have made yourself quite clear. I bid you a good night.” 

Glorfindel’s blue eyes blazed with something Ecthelion dared not name, anger mingled with things Glorfindel had no right to feel, and he rather regretted declining the invitation to stand Galdor a drink before returning home to wash the dust off his skin.

He did not let go. 

_What are you saying?_

Despair snagged at Glorfindel like a hook, pulling a sound of disbelief out of him as his fingers tightened around Ecthelion’s shoulder – and then came the rush of anger at the words being put in his mouth, at being talked to like this. He might have regretted it a second later when it brought their bodies entirely too close together, but the moment did not ask for Glorfindel’s permission – without thinking, he pushed Ecthelion back until he hit the pillar with a muted thud, Glorfindel’s bulk pressing him against the stone.

“Whatever I did – whatever happened this morning, I have not the faintest understanding beyond you leaving me without even seeing me out of your house, you…”

“Will you unhand me!” Ecthelion snarled, edging towards anger himself. Anger was safer than the crushing despair and sadness, at least, giving him a shield to hide his torn heart behind. “As much as I appreciate your enjoyments of my talents in the bedroom, I never expected it to go further than that, so I really _don’t know_ what this is about, Lord Glorfindel!” 

Glorfindel growled, blood pumping in his veins, causing his skin to flush with mingling anger and shame. Words stuck to his throat, and then the rest of what Ecthelion had said started to form roads across the map of Glorfindel’s mind.

 _“I told you,”_ he began, his voice both carefully constrained yet full of everything he couldn’t convey, _“that I love you.”_

Then Glorfindel crushed their mouths together, hot and hard with pent-up energy and frustration, attempting to pry Ecthelion’s lips apart so he could taste Glorfindel’s emotions straight from his essence.

If only it could make Ecthelion understand – to give Glorfindel something to hold onto, to hand him a glimmer of hope to carry him across this nightmare.

_You… what?!_

Ecthelion’s mind spun, but the kiss pulled him under, drowned him in sheer _want_ with a wanton moan, his hands suddenly tangled in Glorfindel’s hair and clinging to his shoulders with that almost-desperation he hadn’t wanted to let himself feel.

_This is being alive._

The thought, shaped in an instant and gone in the next, made him gasp for a bit of air that was stolen by Glorfindel’s tongue evoking memories and fantasies both and Ecthelion wanted _more_. 

Sucking on the slick muscle, he pressed himself against Glorfindel’s strong chest, barely aware of his feet moving until his back hit the wall of the shaded colonnade, a ragged breath escaping as he stared at Glorfindel, feeling lust pound through his veins with every beat of his heart. 

Biting at Glorfindel’s lips, satisfied by the hard pants coming from his mouth, floating across Ecthelion’s lips in between kisses, he felt himself unravel swifter than ever before. 

“ _Glorf–_ ” he whimpered, but the name was stolen by another hard kiss, Glorfindel’s body pressing him against the wall as he ground his hips, hard and angry and overwhelmingly delicious.

_Anyone could find us..._

Ecthelion wouldn’t have cared if Turgon himself had showed up at that moment, one leg hitching itself around Glorfindel’s hip until the pressure was _just perfect_. 

Angry or not, Glorfindel could have forgiven _anything_ for that kiss. It gave him back his sanity only to steal it the next moment with the way Ecthelion opened up for him, bit him, pressed against him with equal want and desperation. It was beyond perfect, and Glorfindel wanted time to freeze that moment, press it into his heart and keep it there forever.

“I want,” he whispered between their ravenous kisses, tongues delving past each other and lapping up every moan and sigh, “ _everything_ of you. Do you understand me?”

Beneath his simple breeches, Glorfindel was hard like a rock, pressing against the answering solid shape of Ecthelion’s cock. One perfect thrust had him nearly keen with desire, and he dropped his head breathlessly against Ecthelion’s shoulder. Snaking a hand between them to briefly palm at Ecthelion was rewarded by a sweetly desperate moan turning into more of those words that made no _sense_. 

The hot hard length against the heel of Glorfindel’s hand brought saliva pooling beneath his tongue – he breathed hard against the soft fabric of Ecthelion’s shirt, nose brushing against the delectable skin just above his collar. The desire to mark him where all could see was overwhelming.

_My Ecthelion._

Glorfindel embraced Ecthelion’s shape with both arms, as tight as he dared so he wouldn’t leave him again.

_Mine._

“Why do you say such things, Ecthelion – my beloved, why would you speak as though you do not matter to me?” he asked, his cheeks flushed and hair in disarray, eyes glimmering in the waning light of dusk.

It hurt to ask – Glorfindel did not want to ruin the moment, but he had to know, desperately so. Looking up, he searched Ecthelion’s eyes, gaze darting between the flecks of silver he wanted to dive into.

_My beautiful Ecthelion._

Then Glorfindel kissed him again, tilting his head roughly into it, yet the tongue that delved in was gentle as it traced the shape of Ecthelion’s teeth with deep veneration. 

For a few moments Ecthelion could only moan in response, confused by the sudden softness but willing to accept the sweet kisses if only Glorfindel would _move_. 

And then the words filtered through his lust-addled mind, coupling with the earlier confession and birthing even more confusion in his heart. 

“But…” he whispered, suddenly aware of the way his boot heel was pressing into Glorfindel’s arse, “you’re… _Glorfindel_.” Did he truly have to say the words? Not that he could claim to have been untouched, before, but the occupants of _his_ bedchamber had never been public speculation nor had anyone ever _placed bets_ on the frequency of their interchangeability.

But Glorfindel’s were. 

Reluctantly drawing away from the gentle lips threatening to undo his defenses entirely, Ecthelion stared at Glorfindel, seeing softness mixed with confusion in his blue eyes, moonlight turning his hair silver.

He almost preferred the anger, wanted to lose himself in this impossible dream for a night, waking up to savour the marks left behind like badges of honour. 

“You’re not one to settle for a single ner,” he whispered, one hand slipping free of Glorfindel’s hair to run a thumb across that kiss-swollen bottom lip. “I knew that from the beginning.” 

Closing his eyes, Ecthelion leaned his head back against the pillar, wishing the cool stone would soothe his churning thoughts. 

He had thought it hurt to know, but still it was agony to say it, and yet there was peace, also, once the final words escaped him: 

“I accepted that you’d not offer me your heart for my own, not matter how much I might want it – _don’t you see?_ – I wanted… I wanted to know if my fantasies could become real, at least for a little while…” He smiled, letting his hand drop to Glorfindel’s shoulder. “And they did…” Unwrapping himself from clinging to Glorfindel was so _difficult_ , but Ecthelion managed, setting his boots firmly on the flagstones and ignoring the insistent throbbing between his legs. “But dreams end. You need not flatter me with empty words.” Pushing Glorfindel, meeting no resistance, half a step back allowed him to move away from the pillar, turning his back on the golden warrior. “Goodnight… Glorfindel.” 

It was difficult to walk with his usual grace and dignity, but Ecthelion quieted his body with sheer power of will, knowing he would pay for it later, but unwilling to stay another minute like this. Physical needs could be attended to in private, he knew, and had done so often enough, or dulled by the application of excellent wine. 

The needs of a heart were not so easily filled, however.

He really should have accepted the invitation to join Galdor.

The rest of what could have been described as anger bled out of Glorfindel as he stared after Ecthelion in deep confusion, feeling like they were repeating a pattern here; he said something, and Ecthelion would draw back from him quicker than his mind could process.

But now he was starting to understand. It wasn’t about keeping their relationship secret, not at all – but about something else, entirely…

“You do not understand, Ecthelion,” he said. “I settled… _before_ you.” 

Glorfindel released the fists his hands had become as he spoke to Ecthelion’s back, hoping he could still be heard. He could have run after him, but he feared it would just have become another pattern.

“You had my heart,” he continued softly, “but I had no courage to offer it to you… not until now.” Glorfindel swallowed hard, praying in the back of his mind that Ecthelion would stop walking away from him. “This is no dream – it is _real_ , Ecthelion.” 

The words, softly spoken, floated on the perfumed night air stretching between them, dreamlike and gentle. They sounded true, and yet Ecthelion hardly dared to believe he was hearing them, though he feet were suddenly rooted to the stones beneath. 

“You… lacking courage?” he mumbled, lost in confusion; Glorfindel had always been the bravest elf he knew – for him to lack _courage_ was nigh unthinkable. Turning his head, looking over his shoulder at where Glorfindel still stood, half in shadows where he had left him, Ecthelion wished that he could see his face clearly. 

Hope, cautious and timid, rose in his heart when Glorfindel took a step towards him, walking into the moonlight with a soft look on his face. 

Love? 

Ecthelion had hardly dared to dream of such a thing, and still it was a sweeter hope than any he had felt before, making him turn to face Glorfindel fully. 

“If you come to me,” he warned, “I shall not let you go again.” He swallowed once, trying to calm himself as he held out his hand. _Courage._ “If you take my hand on this night, Glorfindel, we are _bound_.” _And if you don’t… I shall hate you for all the Ages to come._ “Will you be my one love, my husband, and take me to be your own in return?” 

Ecthelion had to admit some surprise when his back met another wall, though Glorfindel’s arm intervened before he hit it too hard, his mouth back to finish what he had started by the piller. 

But not angry, now, no. 

This was joy, pure and sweet, love pouring into Ecthelion’s soul with every kiss and mirrored there until he wasn’t sure where he began and Glorfindel ended. Ecthelion felt his hand caught by a warm palm, fingers twining together as they panted for breath, foreheads pressed together in a moment of sheer _co-existence_. 

_I was wrong_ , he thought, smiling at Glorfindel and stealing a small kiss just because he _could_.

**_This_ ** _is love._


End file.
